Labyrinthine: The 127th Hunger Games
by call me calamity
Summary: Twisting, turning, growing, shrinking. The walls are closing in—no, they are only shifting. A shadow passes over the corridor, and a scream sounds from far away. The descent into madness has only just begun. Welcome to the 127th Hunger Games. (SYOT closed!)
1. The Victors

_Twisting, turning, growing, shrinking. The walls are closing in—no, they are only shifting. A shadow passes over the corridor, and a scream sounds from far away. The descent into madness has only just begun. Welcome to the 127th Hunger Games._

* * *

 **Blitz Maverick, 31, District 1 - Victor of the 114th Hunger Games**

He stumbles into the room, some nameless girl's lips attached to his neck.

He barely manages to push the door closed, not even bothering to turn on the lights, as they frantically stagger toward the king bed. He's supposed to be at a meeting with the other victors in a half hour, but he figures a quickie's never hurt anybody before.

The young woman pushes him backwards onto the mattress with a giggle, pressing her hands to his chest and fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. She's just beginning to lean toward him when the room is engulfed in fluorescent light.

"What the f _—_ " He sits up at lightning speed, so quickly that the girl nearly trips on her heels as she lets out a shriek of surprise. _"Veneera?"_

The other woman is standing by the light switch, arms crossed and a frown tugging at her perfectly-plucked eyebrows. "Hi, Blitz."

He sends the girl away with muttered words and a flick of his wrist. She sighs but doesn't resist, slipping out the door and shooting Veneera a reproachful look as she goes. Once the door closes behind her, Blitz sits up on the bed and attempts to flatten his mussed ebony curls. "Care to explain why you're _in my bedroom,_ Veneera?" he says exasperatedly.

She only quirks an eyebrow, her full lips twitching upwards as she flicks her impeccable auburn hair over one shoulder. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Then why not do it in a less... _stalkerish_ way?"

When she smiles, her teeth shine like the blades of her beloved knives. "Well, any other way would be a bore, don't you think?"

Blitz sighs, knowing that arguing with her will only add to the frustration. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he addresses her again. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Her smile grows impossibly wider. "I want to mentor with you."

* * *

 **Octavian Slater, 25, District 2 - Victor of the 120th Hunger Games**

"You want to mentor with me?"

He shrugs. "Well, yeah. You're one of the best living victors in the district's history."

Cinder narrows her eyes at him. "Kid, I'm fifty years old. Outdated."

"So?" he says. He's always been stubborn. Spoiled, even. The son of a victor and a Peacekeeper, his life has been stable from the day he was born.

"So, why not ask someone younger?" Cinder suggests. "That Cleo girl was impressive, and she's only a few years older than you. Hell, why not ask your _mom_ _—"_

"Cinder, we're in a dry spell!" he argues, trying not to lose his temper. "I'm the most recent victor, and it's been _seven_ years. Seven! You mentored me and I won, so I want you to mentor this year."

Most districts don't have the capability for a mentor system, but with District 2's constant inflow of victors, it's a luxury they can afford. The most recent victor is offered the chance to mentor, and should they choose to accept the offer, are allowed to select another victor of their choosing to co-mentor that year's tributes. District 1 apparently has a similar system, but Octavian doesn't know much about it.

It's his first year accepting the offer. He had a good feeling about this one. And he wants Cinder by his side.

"Cinder, _please,_ " he says, grey eyes wide. "Just one year, it's all I ask."

The older woman looks at him for a long moment, then sighs as she runs a hand through her short salt-and-pepper hair. "Fine, kid. But don't get used to it."

Octavian pumps his fists in the air. "Cinder, this is our year."

* * *

 **Bit Strata, 43, District 3 - Victor of the 101st Hunger Games**

Bit looks at Elec, bored. "You think this is our year?" she echoes. "Elec, we haven't seen a victor since _you_ in the hundred-third. We are literally the only two victors alive."

The man rolls his eyes. "Yeah, for now," he says. "You're on your way out, Bitsy. We _need_ another victory. I don't want to have to do this on my own."

She stares at her cousin, a pang of sadness slicing through her chest. She almost wishes she didn't tell him about the illness, because it's all he ever seems to think about now. Then again, who else was she supposed to tell? No living family other than him, and no other victors to confide in. She's long-since admitted to herself that she's a rather lonely individual. "Has anyone ever told you that you're incredibly naïve for a forty-year-old?"

"I'm optimistic."

"They're interchangeable."

"Better than being a pragmatic eighty-year-old at heart."

Bit sighs, rolling her eyes and standing from her chair. "You can hope for a victor all you want, El," she says, "but don't get all heartbroken when it doesn't happen."

With that she pads out of the parlor and out the front door, heading across the street to her own home. She pretends not to hear the muttered, _"Bitch,"_ from her cousin as she leaves.

* * *

 **Nettie Reed, 21, District 4 - Victor of the 124th Hunger Games**

Juggling grocery bags, she climbs the stairs of her home in the Village, careful on the last one _—_ she still needs to fix that loose stone _—_ as she enters the house.

"Mom," she calls, her voice bouncing off of the nearly-empty walls. Her mother always complains that her house doesn't feel lived-in enough, but Nettie always shuts her down _—"I'm a_ minimalist, _mother,"_ _—_ with a shake of her head.

She frowns when there's no familiar lilt from upstairs, no smell of lobster from the kitchen. "Mom?" she calls again, this time with a question in her tone.

"In here, Nettie."

It comes from the dining room, uncharacteristically soft. Nettie's frown deepens as she sets the bags down in front of the door, brushing a brunette curl away from her face as she stalks toward the sound of her mother's voice. Instinctively she fiddles with the switchblade in the pocket of her jeans, ready for anything as she rounds the corner to see her mother, seated amongst Nettie's fellow victors, Gil, Marina, and Aegea, and across from somebody she thought she would only ever see on special occasions.

Her eyes narrow.

"What's the _president_ doing here?"

* * *

 **Joule Solaris, 53, District 5 - Victor of the 90th Hunger Games**

"She's here to make an offer."

He looks at Baryon incredulously, still refusing to sit down. "What kind of _offer?_ " he asks his husband.

Baryon shrugs. "I don't know. Ask her."

Joule looks again at President Cordelia Revere, sitting in _his_ arm chair as if she _owns_ the place. Which, technically he supposes she does, but still. She looks back at him cryptically, her thin lips pulled into a tight smile and her thin, jet-black hair falling ramrod-straight over her shoulders. He doesn't like the way her golden eyes gleam in the afternoon sunlight.

"Hello, Joule," she says, her voice smooth and crisp. Rehearsed.

"Madam President," he says as respectfully as he can, bowing his head slightly. "How can I help you?"

Her lips stretch even wider across her pale face, giving her a rather ghastly appearance. "I'm so glad you asked, Mr. Solaris."

* * *

 **Beatrix Cabman, 36, District 6 - Victor of the 106th Hunger Games**

"Hell no."

"Bea!"

"What?" She whips around to face her mother, green eyes flashing dangerously.

"You can't speak to the _president_ in such a way!" her mother scolds, and Bea scoffs incredulously.

"Mother, did you _not_ hear what she said?" She turns back to the president as an idea dawns on her. "Does Somerled know about this? He's a victor, too, so you must have told him! What did he say?"

President Revere doesn't even blink, standing straight as a board in her all-crimson pantsuit. Bea doesn't like the way she watches them, as if she can see into their deepest thoughts. She suppresses a shiver.

"Ms. Cabman, I implore you to consider my offer," Revere says coolly, her voice unwavering. "I don't need an immediate decision. Just... sleep on it."

* * *

 **Elmer Dogwood, 46, District 7 - Victor of the 99th Hunger Games**

"You don't have time to _sleep on it,_ " he snaps, downing another shot of alcohol before slamming the glass onto the table with unnecessary force. "Either we have a deal, or we don't."

"Elmer, what you're asking of me is _—_ "

"I know what I'm _asking_ of you, Polonius."

"Then surely, you must _—_ "

Elmer glares at the Capitolite, effectively shutting him up. He swears, these people get more stupid by the minute. "You're the goddamn _Head Gamemaker,_ Polonius," he growls, leaning in closer to the man. The jagged scar running from the inner corner of his eyebrow, diagonally across his now-clouded eye, and all the way to his jaw seems to have the desired _intimidation_ effect, because soon enough Polonius is nodding frantically.

"Fine, fine! I-I'll _see what I can do._ But I'm not promising you anything!"

Elmer leans back in his chair, replacing his scowl with a leisurely smile. He calls for another drink, his eyes not leaving the man in front of him. "I knew you'd come around," he drawls as another shot glass materializes before him. "I'll see you very soon, old friend."

Polonius's face grows slightly purple, almost matching his hair, before he slips out of his chair and power-walks out of the bar. Elmer chuckles to himself, shaking his head and downing the shot.

Suddenly Magnolia is beside him, frowning at him like he's crazy. "What was that about?" his fellow mentor asks.

* * *

 **Loden Jacquard, 56, District 8 - Victor of the 89th Hunger Games**

"Nothing, it was nothing!"

Loden sighs, out of breath as he leans against the doorway and watches his sister, who waves him off as if she _wasn't_ just having another coughing fit. It's gotten worse, he's noticed. Deeper in her chest. More rattling. It's bad enough that she's bedridden, but now the cough has progressed?

He's getting scared.

"Don't you have a meeting to get to?" asks Poly, her voice hoarse.

Loden shrugs. "They can wait. Not like there's another victor lying around that we need to talk to."

And it's true. District 8 is one of the only districts with a sole surviving victor. It's District 8 along with 5, 11, and 12. It's embarrassing, really, but generally unsurprising. It's also rather unsettling that he's grown so old. He knows that he doesn't have much time left, himself. District 8 needs a new victor, and soon.

Another fit of coughing snaps Loden out of his reverie, and he gazes at his sister with concern in his eyes. "I'm really starting to worry about you, you know."

* * *

 **Amara Caulfield, 26, District 9 - Victor of the 116th Hunger Games**

She rolls her eyes. "I'm fine, Gar. I'm not a kid. You don't need to worry about me."

Garrick lets out a long-suffering sigh, as if _she's_ inconveniencing _him._ As if _she_ didn't just walk in on _him_ hogging _her_ kitchen. "Amara, I'm not an idiot," he says. "You've been away for longer periods of time. You're losing weight. You're defensive and you're irritable and _—_ "

Amara scowls at the older man, rubbing her eyes and probably smudging last night's makeup even worse. "You know, calling someone defensive and irritable will only make them _more_ defensive and irritable."

And it's true. She is _extremely_ irritated by Garrick right now. He seems to think that just because he's ten years older than her he's her _father_ or something. She may be an orphan, but she doesn't need a parental figure. She's done just fine all her life, thank you very much. What harm do a few extra nights at the Capitol clubs even do, anyway?

"We need to focus on these Games, Amara," Garrick continues as if he didn't hear her. "Polonius Redfern says that he's doing something different this year, something less _physically challenging._ So that means what, something more _mentally_ challenging?"

"Who. Cares."

"See, _this_ is why we haven't had a victor in twelve years. Because you don't care!"

"And why should I?" Amara retorts, suddenly fuming. The ignorance of some people is astounding. "This district has done _nothing_ for me. I grew up _on the streets,_ penniless, parentless, working in fields twenty-four-seven just to pay for a _loaf of bread._ I'm so sorry, Garrick, that we can't all be the mayor's son!"

He shuts up at that, and for a moment Amara thinks she's won. But then his eyes turn cold, his gaze steely. "Feeling sorry for yourself will get you nowhere," he says, his voice disconcertingly steady. "You have a life right now that people can only _dream_ of."

She huffs, shooting him her best glare. "Well, maybe I don't want it."

* * *

 **Herd Fowlman, 30, District 10 - Victor of the 115th Hunger Games**

"Oh, come on, you _know_ you want it!" he says, eliciting a giggle from the infant that currently lays in its crib. Herd's smile grows as Ajax reaches his tiny, pudgy hands up toward the rattle his father dangles over him.

"Will you stop torturing the poor child?"

Herd turns, the smile not leaving his face, to see Sable leaning against the nursery's door frame. Her dark, ringlet curls frame her freckled face beautifully, a soft smile playing at her lips.

"Oh, come on, we're having a great time!" he protests playfully as his wife pushes away from the door, walking toward him with leisurely-crossed arms. She comes to rest against his chest, and Herd's arms immediately wrap around her tiny frame. He's always loved how perfectly Sable fits against him. Ever since they were children, growing up in neighboring ranches, he's wanted to hold her like this.

"We're gonna miss you while you're away, you know."

Herd leans down, presses a kiss to Sable's forehead. "It's only a few weeks, you know that. I'll be back before you even realize I'm gone."

She smiles up at him, and his heart flutters. "Merona and the kids will be here soon, won't they?"

"Yeah, probably. We should start dinner."

It's been the same every year since Merona's won. As Herd and Merona are the only living victors of District 10, they've been mentoring together since he was 19 and she was 17. It's only a coincidence that Merona is Sable's childhood best friend, and as a result, there is always a dinner hosted between the two victors' families the night before the Reapings. Every other year it alternates between homes, and this year it's the Fowlmans'.

Out of the blue, Ajax giggles from his crib. Her looks down at Sable, who looks up at him, and then they burst out laughing.

"Looks like someone else is getting hungry, too."

* * *

 **Juniper Shea, 49, District 11 - Victor of the 95th Hunger Games**

"We can't let that happen, though!" she exclaims, nearly pacing a trench in the floor. "We can't let them all go hungry!"

"Juniper, please _—_ "

"I thought I had enough funds!"

"Prices are going up _—_ "

"So what, you want me to just _cut off_ the supply to the orphanage? The hospital?"

Her brother sighs, shrugging desperately. "I don't know what to tell you, June. It was easier when Cane was still around, but you can't split funds anymore. You're the only victor left, and that means less money to put toward the things you want."

Juniper laughs humorlessly, presses the heels of her palms into her eyes as she tries to fight the tears burning her eyes. What's she supposed to do now? All her years of funding, of donating, of _helping her district,_ are being cut short. What is she going to tell everyone? _How_ is she going to tell everyone?

"June, it's okay," her brother tries to reassure her. "They'll understand. You've been nothing but kind and generous to them. They couldn't hate you if they tried."

"You don't know that!"

"I do. But, if it helps... well, you need another victor. Someone who can help you with the funding. Whoever you end up mentoring this year, they need to _win._ "

Juniper considers this. After Cane's unfortunate death a little over a year ago, she's been stuck with all of the victor's duties to herself. Not that she minds, of course _—_ what kind of victor would she be if she didn't use her money and status for good?

What her brother says is true. District 11 needs another victor.

"You're right," she says with a single nod. "It's the only way to save them."

* * *

 **Ora Collier, 50, District 12 - Victor of the 93rd Hunger Games**

"There's always another way."

President Revere shakes her head, her face still completely stoic. "I'm afraid, Ms. Collier, that in this instance there is not."

Ora sighs, runs a hand down her face. "Do the other victors know?"

"Some, yes."

"And are they on-board?"

Revere purses her lips, the first sign of emotion since she showed up knocking on Ora's door. "I'm afraid I can't disclose that information."

Ora snorts. "Figures."

"Ms. Collier," continues Revere, clearing her throat and crossing one skeletal leg over the other. "What I'm offering you could be a chance to make history. To change Panem as we know it, and for the better. Isn't that something you'd like?"

Ora narrows her eyes at the woman before her. With all of their technology, it's very possible for Capitol citizens to appear younger than they really are, but something tells Ora that Cordelia Revere is just as young as she looks _—_ which is much younger than herself. And here she is, speaking to her so patronizingly, as if _Ora_ is the child.

And so she makes her decision.

"Thank you for the tempting offer, Madam President," she says, splitting her face with a smile that doesn't quite reach her blue eyes. "But I refuse."

Revere nods stiffly and rises from her chair without arguing. "Very well, Ms. Collier," she says. When she smiles, thin-lipped and golden-eyed, she appears almost feline. "I will see you very soon. Have a wonderful evening." And without another word, she turns and she leaves.

Ora sighs, collapsing back in her chair and pressing her fingers to her now-aching head.

 _Let the Games begin._

* * *

 **Hello!**

 **Basically I started an SYOT a while back, but then life came and punched me in the face and I was literally** ** _gone_** **for like eight years, so I decided to scrap the old one and restart with something completely new!**

 **Anyway, I've got things way more organized this time. I have a clear picture of what the arena will look like. I used Google Forms instead of a simple copy-and-paste method. I'm planning on setting up a site/blog for the story. Life's good.**

 **So yeah. The link to the Google Form will be on my profile. I tried to make it as painless-yet-detailed as possible, so hopefully that works out.**

 _ **This will not be a first-come, first-serve SYOT.**_ **I'm making the submission deadline December 31st, unless more time is needed. However, if I receive what I believe to be an extensive amount of submissions, I may choose to cut it off early. We'll see what happens!**

 **So, good luck everyone, and may the odds be ever in your favor. I'm really looking forward to seeing all of your lovely tributes!**


	2. The Capitol

**Cordelia Revere, President of Panem**

The clock ticks by, the sound echoing through the empty room. She sits at her desk, poring over the files splayed out along the mahogany surface. It's unusual for her desk to be so disorganized, but at the moment that's the least of her worries.

"A hot tea, please," she calls to the Avox by the doors. She's calling more for privacy than she is for the tea, but maybe the caffeine will be good for her. The young man bows his head before leaving the room to carry out her request.

Cordelia lets herself slump back into her leather chair for a moment, relieved to finally give up her composure for some time. Her golden eyes continue to skim the papers in front of her, not really focusing on them. Her brain feels fried right now, and the more she thinks about it, the better a tea actually sounds at the moment.

She glances to her left, toward the large window of her office that overlooks the streets of the Capitol. She rises from her chair and moves toward it, heels clicking along the hardwood as she goes. It's dusk outside, the gleaming buildings and colorful citizens bathed in golden light. She's always loved the Capitol, how carefree and simple-minded its citizens are. She was never like that. Perhaps that's why she made such a good candidate for president.

She's shaken from her thoughts by a knock at the doors.

"Come in."

It's the Avox from earlier, carrying a small dish with the teacup perched on top. She meets him in the middle, taking the delicate porcelain from him with a nod of acknowledgement. She then turns and makes her way back to her desk, settling back into her chair and continuing her examination of the files before her.

 _How did you do it?_ she thinks as she stares at one in particular.

The face of Katniss Everdeen stares back.

* * *

 **Polonius Sharecroft, Head Gamemaker**

"No, no, no, _no!_ I've told you a _million_ times that the tributes will not need _parkas,_ Julius!"

"Sorry, Polonius, I just—"

"Just _go,_ Julius."'

"Yes, sir."

Polonius sighs heavily as the intern scurries away. They just get less and less competent, don't they?

He's going into his fourth year as Head Gamemaker—a record, he believes—and he cannot afford _any_ errors. This arena has the potential to be his most incredible so far, and he knows for a fact that if all goes well for these Games, he's guaranteed another year in this position.

His mind begins to wander to his arena, and immediately he's reminded of his earlier conversation with that surly victor from 7. Elmer Dogwood is an intimidating man, but what he's asking for is utterly insane. If _anybody_ were to find out about his request—

Suddenly, a smile creeps onto Polonius's face. Yes, if anyone were to find out, then Panem would be tossed into riot. The thought of a victor asking for something so outrageous is a scandal for sure, not to mention amazing material for blackmail. Perhaps he can use this to his advantage. Maybe he could even mention it during his interview with Cymbeline Morrow later tonight.

With a new spring in his step, Polonius straightens his bow tie and walks back to his team. He claps his hands twice, catching his attention, and grins at them all. "New idea!" he exclaims, and he sets to work.

* * *

 **Cymbeline Morrow, Master of Ceremonies**

She finishes applying her lipstick—fluorescent turquoise, her favorite color—and puckers her lips at her reflection, giggling to herself as she does. That was her one request to the style team when she first started last year. She gets to do her own makeup. The outfits and hair, they can have.

"One hour 'til showtime, Cymbeline!" calls a voice, and she watches from the mirror as a young stagehand pokes his head around the corner to pass the message.

"Thank you, darling," she chirps, winking at him through the reflection. He flushes before leaving, and she finds herself giggling again.

At twenty-four years old, Cymbeline is the youngest Master of Ceremonies in history. It wasn't easy climbing her way to the top, working up from absolutely nothing, beating out all of the competition, but she can be very _persuasive_ when she wants to be, and she's always been determined if nothing else.

She uses her finger to wipe some of the excess turquoise away from the corner of her lips, then assesses the other products before her. So many colors, so many choices... she needs to leave an impression again, remind Panem why _she_ deserves the title she has. They loved her last year, and they're going to love her even _more_ this year.

She can feel it.

* * *

 **Hello, hello!**

 **Alright, so this was another introductory chapter for the important Capitol players. You already kind of met Cordelia and Polonius in the last chapter, but I gave them some more in-depth scenes here. I also introduced Cymbeline, who I really love.**

 **So yeah, thanks to everyone who's submitted to far! I've updated my profile with a submission count as well as the amount of submissions I've received from each character slot, so be sure to check that out before you send anything in!**

 **I also added the official site for the story! I'm so, so, _so_ excited about this. It took me literally forever as well as two all-nighters to finish it, but I managed, and I'm so happy with how it came out. Right now I have a more detailed list of mentors, complete with faceclaims and more, as well as the three Capitolites I introduced in this chapter. Once I close submissions, I'll be adding the tributes as well. Link is available on my profile!**

 **Thanks again to everyone for reading and submitting. Keep 'em coming!**


	3. A Brief History

**Hi, everyone! First off, big thanks to all who have submitted! We're almost up to 40, which is totally insane! Keep it up!**

 **Anyway, I didn't plan on doing this, but in a spur-of-the-moment thing I decided to give some more insight into the current mentors for the story. Just like, how they won and whatnot. It won't be super, overly-relevant to the story, but I think some world-building and background information will help make the story all the more detailed and believable, you know? Especially since they'll still be included in parts of the story, even as the Games are going on.**

 **So yeah, here are some more details about the victors, if you're interested!**

* * *

 **District 1**

 **Blitz Maverick:** The son of two Victors, the Hunger Games were practically in his blood growing up. He trained practically since he could walk, and was raised more as a victor than as a son. It was no surprise when he volunteered for the 114h Games at age 18. He played up the typical District 1 angle—charming and a bit goofy, but still with an insatiable appetite for victory. He got through on his charms and intelligence, as well as his skills with the javelin, and was proclaimed Victor in less than a week; one of the shortest Games in history. He now spends most of his time in the Capitol, hooking up with men and women alike and generally living what he considers to be his best life.

 **Veneera Royce:** Born to a single mother in the less-wealthy part of the District, Veneera had to fight her way to the top more than anybody. Some of her means of earning the money to put her through the Academy were... _questionable,_ but in her eyes, the important thing was that she made it. Fiercely independent and borderline-unhinged, she trained hard until it came time for the 125th Hunger Games, for which she volunteered with no hesitation. Sultry, mysterious, and lethal with a knife, she quickly became a Capitol favorite and won easily, picking off an impressive amount of tributes throughout her time in the arena before finally achieving victory over her own district partner, leaving him to the mutts with a single blown kiss at him, and then at the cameras. Her moment of victory remains one of the most memorable throughout Panem.

 **District 2**

 **Octavian Slater:** Growing up just outside the quarries of the district, under the roof of an authoritarian father, Octavian was always extremely disciplined and obedient. He followed orders to a T and always acted more like a soldier than a tribute-in-training, to the point where trainers even suggested that he give up the Academy to join the Peacekeepers instead. Octavian vehemently refused, his heart set on the Games up until he volunteered for the 120th. He was the perfect Career tribute—strong, stoic, soldierly. He killed with ease, relying heavily on brute strength as well as bladed weapons such as a sword, as well as a hatchet stolen from another tribute. He killed nine tributes in total, over a third of the entire group, without so much as batting an eye. He was injured by mutts when it was down to the final three, but fought through it and came out with only a nasty scar on his leg.

 **Cinder Weldman:** Cinder is one of the older mentors this year, having won the 95th Hunger Games at the age of 18. She grew up in a Panem directly effected by the second rebellion, led by Katniss Everdeen. She watched her parents rebuild from scratch, inspired by their resilience and their remaining loyalty to the Capitol. She started at the Academy later than most, as much of the timeline and training was thrown off by the rebellion. Still, she trained hard and worked her way up to become the top trainee, later going on to win her games through her intelligence and her skill with the spear. In the final two, she became victorious after bashing the skull of her rival—the female from 1—with a rock.

 **District 3**

 **Elec Strata:** Elec never expected to be reaped for the 105th Hunger Games, not at age 18 and not after his cousin had been reaped only four years prior. Still, he entered the Games with as positive an attitude as he could muster, having always been a more optimistic, cheerful kid. Through natural charisma and humor, he earned his place among sponsors as an inspiring and fun underdog, providing a new kind of entertainment to the Capitol. His knowledge of technology earned him a 7 in training, another surprise. After surviving the bloodbath and eventually making it to the top eight, Elec was able to assemble a bomb from the wiring of the starting platforms, taking inspiration from a rerun he once watched in which another tribute from 3 helped the Careers by creating a minefield around the Cornucopia. With his handmade weapon, he was able to wipe out all five remaining Careers as well as another unfortunate tribute from an outlying district. In the final three, Elec was able to hide away while the other two tributes were killed off by mutts.

 **Bit Strata:** Bit, or "Bitsy" to family, was 17 when she won the 101st Hunger Games. Slightly on the timid side, she was easily overlooked by nearly every Capitolite and tribute, something she was able to use to her advantage. Having grown up working in labs under her parents, she was able to use her intelligence to devise a working strategy which landed her in the top four. The Gamemakers had tried something different that year, adding a new weapon to the mix—a taser. Bit was able to grab both a knife and a taser, and while a taser isn't always necessarily deadly, she was able to find two tributes at a lake, bathing. Hiding until they emerged from the water, she was able to use the taser to successfully electrocute and kill them. The remaining tribute died of natural causes, leaving Bit as the Victor. Recently, she was diagnosed with an illness that will take her life within the next couple of years.

 **District 4**

 **Gil Ayers:** The son of a fisher and a weaver, Gil had a more humble upbringing. He wasn't an overly-dedicated trainee at the Academy; skilled enough, but never taking anything overly-seriously, as District 4 doesn't treat the Games in the same way as 1 and 2. He was reaped for the 107th Games at age 17 and, since he was already in training and on the older side, had no volunteers for his place. He played his looks to his advantage, quickly becoming the heartthrob of his Games. He allied with the Careers and chose a spear as his weapon, and was even able to weave his own net for catching both tributes and fish in the oceanic arena. Many tributes were killed by tidal waves and shark-like mutts that year, meaning less tributes-killing-tributes, something Panem found rather boring. Gil won simply due to the fact that he grew up in similar conditions to the arena, and his Games were generally boring and uneventful.

 **Nettie Reed:** Born to two fishers, Nettie grew up on the water. She was enrolled in the Academy as well, a diligent student as well as a bit of a troublemaker. She was always skilled, popular, and charismatic, known for her strange personality mixture of _kind_ and _lethal_. It wasn't overly surprising to anybody when she volunteered for the 124th Hunger Games at age 18. The Capitol loved her and she received many sponsors for both herself and her allies. She nearly died twice, once of natural causes and once after a betrayal by one of her allies—the boy from 1. Still, she managed to push forward and eventually became victor after a grueling two-day battle with the boy from District 2, sending a spear through his heart before slitting his throat with a knife she had obtained earlier in the Games.

 **District 5**

 **Joule Solaris:** A natural-born genius from the poorer part of District 5, Joule spent most of his time by himself in a local orphanage, solving equations and drawing up blueprints. His parents died in an accident at one of the power plants, leaving him alone and with no surviving family. He was reaped for the 90th Hunger Games when he was sixteen years old, realistic enough to not be confident in his odds. Untrained, scrappy, and lonely, he was going into things at a major disadvantage. His only redeeming quality was his intelligence, which he was ultimately able to use to his advantage as he set dozens of traps throughout the arena based on the blueprints he had at home; some deadly on their own, others ensnaring tributes until other tributes or mutts got to them. He never engaged in combat or got any direct blood on his hands. The Capitol nicknamed him "The Puppeteer" during his time in the arena.

 **District 6**

 **Somerled Walker:** Growing up in the more wealthy part of the district, Somerled was more-or-less sheltered from the reality of the world by an overbearing mother and barely-home father. He was always a very _average_ person, never standing out in much of anything. When he was reaped for the 108th Games at 15, he was naïve enough to not even fully grasp the danger he was in. This may actually be a large part of the reason why he won—he didn't take the Games as seriously as the majority of other tributes, and was therefore able to keep a cool head throughout the duration of the Games. He had no allies, no encounters with other tributes; he simply hid out until the Games were over. He's known as one of the more lackluster victors, but is one of the two sole surviving victors of District 6, so he is a mentor by default.

 **Beatrix** **Cabman:** Practically the polar opposite of Somerled, Beatrix was raised in the slums of District 6 by an absent-minded, morphling-addicted mother. She grew up fending for herself, getting into fights and partaking in petty crimes such as shoplifting and pick-pocketing. She was reaped for the 106th Games, also at age 15, and while her optimism was rather low, she was still able to fight her way through everything due to the permanent chip on her shoulder. She found she was rather skilled with knives as well as the bola provided by the Gamemakers, and made it through her Games with the same viciousness as a Career might. After winning, she moved her mother into the Victor's Village with her and demanded she give up her addiction. Despite her mother's reluctant compliance, their bond still is not a strong one.

 **District 7**

 **Elmer Dogwood:** Known now for his grizzly nature and less-than-sunny disposition, Elmer tries not to think much of his past as an abusive lumberjack's son, nor of his time in the 99th Hunger Games when he was eighteen. He was reaped for his Games and, at the time, figured it was a good thing—either he returned home and moved far away from his father, or died in the arena and didn't have to bother returning at all. Despite his generally sour attitude, the Capitol audience still loved him, especially after he scored a 9 in training. He flew through his games with ruthless ease, even taking on the entire Career pack at one point, killing all but two. In his final battle, the one between himself and the girl from District 2, he was slashed across the face with his opponent's sword, leaving him with irreversible loss of vision in his left eye, as well as a brutal scar. Nowadays he can usually be found in some Capitol bar, yelling at the television and placing bets left and right.

 **Magnolia Beecher:** Also raised by a lumberjack, Magnolia was gifted with above-average athleticism and was easily one of the fastest and strongest girls in the District by the time she was 15. That's why people believed they would have a victor when she was reaped for the 113th Hunger Games; Magnolia was not somebody to underestimate, despite her lithe and wiry build. The Capitol found her adorable, despite her determined attitude, and while it annoyed her at first, she learned to embrace it until the Games began. That's when she really shone—she got her hands on an axe and managed to take down two Careers in the bloodbath alone, as well as another tribute from an outlying district. Working with her district partner for most of the Games, they lived off of the land and managed to make it to the final six together, when they eventually decided to part ways. Eventually it came down to Magnolia and the boy from District 10, and she was able to kill him with a well-aimed axe to the neck.

 **District 8**

 **Loden Jacquard:** The son of a seamstress and a tailor, Loden lived a quiet, comfortable life until he was reaped for the 89th Hunger Games. He wasn't an overly-supported tribute, as he didn't have any specific qualities that stood out to many viewers, but once in the arena he allied with his district partner as well as the pair from District 10 and the girl from 7. With an alliance nearly the size of the Career pack, they were able to survive for quite a while, each equipped with a bludgeon. Eventually the Gamemakers sent in the mutts, and Loden came out the sole survivor of his alliance. The mutts took out seven tributes that year, leaving Loden, the girl from 4, and the boy from 2 as the final tributes. After the girl from 4 killed the boy from 2, she took off after Loden. He landed a lucky blow with his bludgeon, right to her head, hard and accurate enough to kill her instantly. He now lives in the Victor's Village and cares for his ailing sister.

 **District 9**

 **Garrick Farro:** The only child of the mayor of District 9, Garrick lived a pampered and privileged life growing up. He never let it get to his head too much, though, often going out into the district to get a feel for everyday life. He was reaped for the 104th Hunger Games when he was 16, a shock to the entire district. However, as a rather attractive young man with a charming and polite personality, he was adored by the Capitol and had a surplus of sponsors, due to both his reputation in the Capitol and his status in his District. He picked up the art of throwing knives rather quickly, and those became his weapon of choice. In his Games he only made two kills, one in self-defense during the bloodbath and the other in his final battle with the boy from District 7. He remains one of the Capitol's favorite victors to this day.

 **Amara Caulfield:** Raised by her grandparents, both harvesters, Amara's life was quiet and simple growing up. She was popular in school and a bit of a rebellious child, sneaking out often to gallivant around the district with her friends. She was reaped for the 116th Hunger Games at age 15, and her motivation for winning was her grandparents, who she felt deserved better than the laborious life they were living. Beautiful and charismatic, Amara was another tribute who was adored by the Capitol. In her Games she allied with her district partner and the boy from 11, with her primary weapon being s sickle, something familiar that reminded her of home. When an earthquake killed her district partner, she and her remaining ally split up. In the end it came down to Amara and true girl from District 1, and Amara—thanks to her smaller stature and her opponent's injured leg—was able to come out victorious, slitting the other girl's throat with her sickle. Amara now spends much of her time clubbing in the Capitol, and often earns more publicity than any other victor, something that she has gradually become exhausted by.

 **District 10**

 **Herd Fowlman:** A polite young man raised by farmers, Herd grew up disciplined and kind. Due to a life of working, he was built like an ox by the time he was 18 and reaped for the 115th Hunger Games. Leaving behind a loving family as well as a childhood sweetheart, Herd had all the motivation in the world to make it home, something he played up for the audience. As predicted, they ate it up, and he quickly became one of the favorites to win. He thrived in his arena, a prairie setting, and vowed not to kill unless for self-defense. He stayed true to this promise throughout the Games, for the most part living off of the land and hunting animals with a spear he obtained in the bloodbath. When it came down to himself and the male from 2, he was able to gain the upper hand and—unintentionally—disembowl his opponent. He still has nightmares about the other boy's gruesome death, but his wife and newborn son help him see the light.

 **Merona Sheppard:** Merona grew up down the road from both Herd and his now-wife, Sable—who also happened to be Merona's best friend. Merona was reaped for the 117th Games when she was 17. She found it easier to cope with her bad luck with Herd as her mentor, and having a friend in her corner helped her to become more brave and confident. She played up her southern, farm-girl charm, flying under the radar as a sweet, but non-imposing, tribute. In the arena she obtained a blowgun and darts, a ranged weapon which allowed her to take out tributes from a distance. She once heard of Games where a tribute dipped her darts in poison from berries, and took inspiration from the strategy. She never had to battle another tribute, instead taking them all down with well-aimed darts. Her friendship with Herd and Sable remains as strong as ever.

 **District 11**

 **Juniper Shea:** An orchard worker practically since she could walk, Juniper acted as the mother to her four younger siblings, as their biological mother was deceased and their father was a detached alcoholic. She was terrified upon being reaped for the 95th Hunger Games, only seventeen at the time. She knew she needed to survive in order to keep her siblings alive, and earned the Capitol's affection because of this. She knew her siblings would be watching her, so she tried not to kill if she didn't have to, but eventually the circumstances called for it when she was cornered by the male from District 1 and the female from District 2, the only tributes standing between herself and victory. Through the use of a sickle, Juniper was able to incapacitate the boy from 1 so effectively that he fell onto the girl from 2's sword. While the other girl was distracted, Juniper took her chance and landed the death blow, emerging as the victor. Never having to worry about starvation again, Juniper was able to move her siblings into her new home and, along with the late Cane Darrow—the district's other mentor—donated many of her Victor's funds to feeding children at orphanages, hospitals, and any other impoverished or homeless citizens of District 11.

 **District 12**

 **Ora Collier:** The daughter of miners and a resident of the Seam, Ora didn't have the easiest life growing up. She was only sixteen when reaped for the 93rd Hunger Games, not confident in her odds and already bracing herself for death. However, despite her low training score and lackluster interview, Ora found that she was resourceful enough to survive on her own for the majority of the Games. Armed with nothing but a machete, she went through the Games almost recklessly, figuring that if she dies then it would simply be speeding up the inevitable, seeing as she was already starving back home. However, her reckless nature and lack of strategy seemed to work for her, as she was able to cut down four tributes in total, one of them being the girl from District 4 in the final battle. Ora gained a fair amount of publicity and support after her surprising show, and was popular with the Capitol for several years before their attention shifted elsewhere.

* * *

 **What did you think? Any that particularly interest you? Any that don't?**

 **Friendly reminder that submissions are still currently OPEN, and will be until December 31st. The submission count, submission form, and official website for the story are all available on my profile.**

 **To anybody who celebrates, I hope you have a wonderful Christmas! If not, then have a lovely rest of the year :)**


	4. District 1: Felicia and Quintus

_Some tributes may display inappropriate or disrespectful views and perspectives. These values do not reflect my own._

* * *

 **Felicia Maldiva, 18**

"Good, Felicia."

Glamour's words fall on deaf ears as Felicia notches another arrow in her longbow, taking aim at the next dummy in the row. The three before it are already pierced—one in the chest, one in the neck, one in the forehead. She barely notices, the uncanny aim only natural at this point. She wouldn't be the Academy's designated volunteer if she was anything less than perfect.

Determined brown eyes narrow, and she chews on the inside of her cheek in concentration. She draws the arrow back, impossibly tighter, before finally letting it fly. The sharp, familiar burst of air as the arrow whizzes past her cheek synchronizes with the breath she exhales. Her aim is true, and the arrow embeds itself straight through the dummy's left eye.

Glamour lets out an impressed laugh, even applauds. The trainer beams at her. "Wow, Felicia. I don't think these Games are ready for you," he says.

Felicia only rolls her eyes. Glamour is one of those people who reads Capitol tabloids, who visits constantly. He might as well move there. Really, it's no surprise he's the most Games-obsessed trainer in the district, and of _course_ Felicia had to get stuck with him.

 _Won't matter soon,_ she thinks to herself. _As soon as I come home with that crown, I never have to see these idiots again._

"Let's just keep training," she snaps. She doesn't have time for compliments. She still needs to get home to prepare for the Reaping later, and wasting time with frivolous conversation won't be any help.

Glamour complies, crossing over to the blades display. The silver weapons glint wickedly under the fluorescent lights, and Felicia's gaze lands on the machetes hanging beside the swords. While the bow has always been her preferred weapon, the Academy requires that every student be trained in both long and short-ranged weapons. Felicia, determined not to be some basic sword-and-knifer, chose the machete.

She wishes Dinos were here. Her sixteen-year-old brother is one of the best in his age group, and is Felicia's favorite person to train with. But where the Games are so close, she's been stuck training one-on-one with Glamour. It's customary to train alone during the week before the Games, but annoying nonetheless.

She bites back a sigh and crosses the floor to the display, freeing two machetes from the wall. She twirls them around a bit, testing their weight and their feel in the palms of her hands. When she's satisfied, she looks up to Glamour. He's already in the ring, leaning boredly against his longsword as he waits. Felicia narrows her eyes at him before stepping into the painted white circle herself.

"Ready?"

"Let's go," she says, borderline-impatient.

The sooner this is over, the better.

 **Quintus Lucusis, 18**

Quintus growls in frustration, glaring down at his jammed crossbow and bashing it with his hand. "Come on, you stupid thing!"

He raises his arm and fires a wild shot, the small arrow _finally_ flying through the air. It lands in a dummy's shoulder, and Quintus snorts. Even without trying, he can aim. These Games really aren't ready for him.

"Patience, Quintus," warns Lapis, crossing her arms and frowning. "You lose it like that in the arena, and—"

"Oh, relax, woman," he snaps, not even looking up as he loads another arrow into the barrel. "I made a shot, and it hit. Person would be totally incapacitated, or at least hurt, and that's when I swoop in—" he feigns an underhanded swing with a sword, "—and deliver the death blow. _And the victor is Quintus Lucusis!_ "

He can see Lapis slowly losing her patience, and internally congratulates himself. Women are so easy to set off, with all of those emotions. "Alright, let's just call it," she says, a fake smile on her face. "Clearly, you don't need any more training."

Quintus knows she's mocking him. Still, he shrugs and hangs his crossbow in its designated slot. "Sounds good to me," he says casually, shooting her a lazy smirk. He doesn't even spare her a second glance as he jogs toward the exit. In a last hurrah he jumps up into the air, clicking his heels and letting out a _whoop_ for effect. He's letting the door slam closed behind him before Lapis can even call for him.

As he wheels around the corner, he nearly collides with another person. "Hey, watch it—"

His eyes narrow when he sees who it is. Felicia Maldiva, the stupid little _female tribute_ for District 1. "Oh," he says, "didn't know they let ghetto scum walk these halls."

Felicia glares up at him, not even hesitating before she spits a reply. "Get off your high-horse, asshole. I'd rather be poor and real than rich and pretentious."

"Whatever, bitch," he mumbles, beginning to step around her. He doesn't get the chance though, because the next thing he knows, the side of his face is pressed into the wall as she slams him forward, pulling his arm behind him in a painful bar. "What the _hell,_ you psycho!" he protests, squirming.

"Listen up, _Lucusis,_ " Felicia growls from behind him. "I don't know what you're allowed to get away with at home, and frankly, I don't care. But that attitude of yours will _not_ fly in these Games. I _earned_ my spot here, and you _will_ treat me with respect until the minute we get into that arena."

Quintus barks out a laugh. "Sure thing, _Maldiva,_ " he mocks. She finally releases him, but not before giving his arm another sharp yank. When he turns back to face her he sneers, leaning over her and making sure to intimidate. "I wouldn't worry about the arena too much, though," he says. "I can't see you lasting a day."

Before she can retaliate, probably with a well-aimed punch to his face, he's spinning away from her and swaggering back down the corridor toward the locker rooms. He has a Reaping to get to.

 **Felicia Maldiva, 18**

She's still seething as she and her family walk to the square from the train station. How _dare_ Quintus speak to her like that! She's earned her keep, probably far more fairly than he did, and he has the _nerve_ to speak to her as if she doesn't deserve everything she's worked for?

Not for the first time, she finds herself considering a rapid break-up of the Career alliance.

"Honey, relax your shoulders," her mother says gently, tapping Felicia's elbow. "You don't want to be stressing yourself out right now."

Felicia smiles half-heartedly at her. "Sorry."

"Well, don't be sorry," her mother says. "This is the biggest day of your life. You're about to—"

"Felicia, remember to take your time getting up onstage," comes her father's gruff voice from her other side. Clearly, he was off in his own world, oblivious to the conversation between Felicia and her mother. "If you look too excited, you'll seem immature. We can't have that."

"I know, Dad," Felicia says, refraining from rolling her eyes. Image, image, image. Ever since she was chosen to be the volunteer for this year, it's been all about _image._ She can't exactly blame her father—they don't come from a wealthy part of the district, and this is his chance to break away from that—but he's obsessive.

Eventually they reach the square, and Felicia and Dinos break away from their parents to check in. Over the crowd, she can just catch a glimpse of the stage, where people are filling in. She sees the mayor, as well as the District's past victors, with Blitz Maverick and Veneera Royce closest to the center. This year's mentors.

"You nervous?" asks Dinos. Despite the two-year age difference, as well as Felicia's heels, he still has to look slightly down at her to make eye contact.

"Of course not," she says. "We both know I'm ready for this." They shuffle forward with the line, Dinos nodding in acknowledgment to one of his friends before Felicia speaks up again. "Why?" she says. "Are you nervous _for_ me?"

"Of course not," Dino repeats with a smirk. "I can't wait to say I've got a Victor for a sister."

She lets herself grin at that, her first genuine smile in a long time. "Damn straight."

 **Quintus Lucusis, 18**

As soon as the needle pricks his finger, he's turning away and shoving through the crowd, determined to get a good spot. Right by the aisle, so he can get up to the stage as quickly as possible.

Excitement pulses through him, and he even bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. He cracks his neck and grins viciously at some little thirteen-year-old as the crowd gradually begins to grow. In no time they're all congregated in the square, and the stupid-looking Capitol escort is crossing the stage. People applaud nonetheless, and Quintus wrinkles his nose. Why cheer for someone as _daft_ as Daphne Diamondback?

"Welcome, citizens of District One, to the reaping for the one-hundred-and-twenty-seventh annual Hunger Games!" she exclaims with a flourish, her lime green wig nearly flying off of her head. Still, the square erupts into cheers and applause.

Quintus tunes the rest out. He doesn't need to listen to some dumb speech or watch some stupid video. He waits and waits and _waits_ until Daphne _finally_ prances across the stage to the overflowing glass bowl of female tributes. Quintus stifles a yawn as she reads some boring little girl's name, and rolls his eyes when he hears Felicia call out, strong and confident, "I volunteer as tribute!"

The crowd goes crazy when she does, and she walks to the stage slowly, as if she has all the time in the world. _Please just_ hurry _up,_ Quintus silently begs.

And then Daphne is reaching into the boys' bowl, picking out a slip of paper, unraveling it with long silver nails, "Blaze Ma—"

"I VOLUNTEER!" Quintus hollers, stepping into the aisle. He straightens his leather jacket and smoothes his hair back, quickly walking to the stage and climbing the steps with ease. His heart is beating erratically. This is it. This is really it!

"And what is your name?" asks Daphne, and Quintus practically rips the microphone from her hands.

"Quintus Lucusis!" he says proudly. "District One's next victor."

* * *

 **And, one is done!**

 **Ahh, I'm so excited to finally be starting this for real! I wanted to get the first chapter up ASAP, so here we are. Thank you to Tiger Outsider and DMonkey1607 for Felicia and Quintus! Hopefully I did them justice; I have a feeling that Quintus will be a bit of a challenge for me to write, which is part of the reason why I picked him.**

 **The official tribute list and the story's updated website are available on my profile. Congrats to everyone whose characters were accepted!**

 **Hope everyone has a great day :)**


	5. District 2: Gunnar and Lucia

**Gunnar Sharp, 18**

Heavy metal glances off of strong fiberglass, and Gunnar spins away from his opponent, escrima sticks brandished. "Jeez, Ramirez, you're really not holding back," he says with a half-smile.

Lucia doesn't move from her defensive position, only slightly adjusts her grip on the hilt of her large sword. "Either that, or you're getting sloppy, Sharp," she retorts. Without warning, she charges him again.

Gunnar grins, meeting her strike with his sticks. He enjoys sparring with Lucia—she doesn't talk much, not unless he initiates it. It's refreshing to train with somebody who takes things as seriously as he does, and he's glad that she was assigned to be his fellow volunteer this year. He doesn't have the patience for people who focus too much on petty matters, regardless of the fact that he'd be killing them, anyway.

Lucia suddenly surprises him by planting her foot on his chest and pushing. Cursing, Gunnar staggers back and barely has time to raise his sticks in defense before she's on him again. He lifts one of the short staffs to deflect the blow, but she knocks it clean out of his hand before giving the other the same treatment. _Well, now what?_

Impulsively, probably stupidly, Gunnar dives for one of his discarded weapons. Somehow he reaches it and turns quickly, knocking Lucia's sword away with his own weapon. While she's recovering, he crosses the ring to scoop his other stick back up. He twirls one around and resumes a defensive stance, noticing that Lucia has done the same. They circle the ring for a few moments, each analyzing the other.

Over the years, battle strategy has become a more popular topic at the Academy in District 2. Instead of focusing almost-exclusively on combat, trainees are also taught how to analyze an opponent as well as a battleground, something that is stressed as equally important to weapons skills.

Right now, Lucia appears to be distracted. She's blinking a lot, shaking her head, brows slightly knitted into a frown. She must have gotten something in her eye. _Works for me,_ Gunnar thinks as he uses the momentary distraction to his advantage. He surges forward, on the offensive, and Lucia is just raising her sword to deflect the blow when he grips her blade between his sticks, grunting as he twists with all of his might.

The maneuver has the desired effect as Lucia hisses in pain, forced to drop her blade unless she wants two broken wrists. She staggers a bit, and Gunnar takes the opportunity to pay her back from earlier, landing a swift kick to her stomach and knocking her to the ground. Once she's on her back, he plants his foot on her chest and points one of his staffs down at her, his other raised defensively over his chest. "And the Victor is Gunnar Sharp," he sneers. Lucia groans and lets her head drop back onto the mat.

Gunnar reaches out a hand, and she takes it. Pulling her to her feet, he raises a brow. "You almost had me earlier."

Lucia seems frustrated with herself, more than she usually would be at a defeat. "Almost," she mutters.

"Good fight, you two," says Mars from the other side of the room. The older trainer had been silent for the duration of the fight, letting Gunnar and Lucia play by their own rules. "Gunnar, nice perseverance after she disarmed you. Just be careful with that impulsiveness. Won't always work in favor. Lucia, way to start and finish strong. You dominated most of that fight."

They both nod, thanking their trainer, before making their way toward the exit. Not another word is spoken between them.

 **Lucia Ramirez, 18**

She trips on the top step when she gets home, and that just about does it for her.

Biting back a curse, she braces herself on the door frame as she steadies herself. Her vision cuts out completely in her left eye, and her vision swims in her right. She feels angry tears building, but blinks them away quickly. Shaking her head, she pushes the door open and is greeted by a quiet house.

It's always quiet when she's around.

She toes off her shoes and leaves them next to the door, beside the other four pairs strewn haphazardly on the hardwood. She doesn't bother calling out to her family; they won't care that she's home, anyway. She barely sees them—barely sees her _house_ —around her training schedule. Ever since she's been designated as a volunteer, there's been an irreparable rift between herself and her parents, even her sisters. Her brother Marco is a lost cause in himself—she always enjoyed his company, but he moved out years ago. She never sees him anymore.

Her vision is starting to return now, at least in her right eye. Her left, she's concluded, is a lost cause.

Whenever she thinks about it, she wants to laugh at the utter _ridiculousness_ of it all. A practically-blind Career tribute, fighting her way through the Hunger Games? Unheard of. Still, she figures, maybe once she wins she can get some kind of corrective surgery. She's been dreaming of it ever since her vision started to go, about a year ago now.

She climbs the stairs to the second floor of her house, heads down the hall to her bedroom. She only has a half hour before her family leaves for the Reaping. It's more than enough time, really—all she needs to do is get changed. Which also means she has time for another few chapters of her book.

She digs it out from the drawer of her bedside table, admiring the worn cover and spine. This book has been her favorite so far—also the most difficult to obtain, which makes it even better.

Reading and books aren't common in District 2, not outside of school. But Lucia loves to read, always has. There's something so comforting, so beautiful, about strings of words arranged in _just the right way_ to allow you to fall into the story yourself. It's one of the things she'll miss the most when her vision goes completely.

Because of their rarity, many of the books she's read have been contraband, snuck into her house and piled in secret. To her, it makes reading even more special.

Opening the book to her most recent page, she squints down at the words. Her vision isn't as bad today, and she can make out most of the words fairly easily.

Leaning back on her bed, she allows herself to get lost in the pages.

 **Gunnar Sharp, 18**

"I'll see you in the Hall of Justice," says his father, gruff and serious as always.

Gunnar nods in acknowledgment. "Yes, sir."

No more words are exchanged after that, and Gunnar makes his way to the line that's forming for the finger prick. He's only just secured his spot when a familiar voice calls out for him.

"Sharp!"

He turns with a genuine smile to see Vex, pushing through the crowd to reach him. A smile lights up her face as she approaches him, her crimson dress swaying as she moves.

Vex is pretty; there's no way around it. With her sleek, jet-black hair and almond-shaped eyes, as well as her skills and intelligence, she's easily one of the more attractive sixteen-year-olds in the district. She's been Gunnar's best friend and preferred training partner since she started at the Academy.

"What's up, Arston?" he grins down at her, tapping her elbow.

"Oh, nothing, just waiting for my best friend to become a victor," she says, rolling her eyes casually, grinning herself.

"Won't be much longer now," he says, chest swelling with pride at the thought of the crown laying atop his head.

"What, um," Vex clears her throat, "what are you gonna do once you win? Find some hot Capitol girl to marry, or something?"

Gunnar snorts, shaking his head. "Vex, you know I don't care about all of that gross romantic shit. Right now, all I care about is the crown."

Vex's shoulders drop slightly. "Right," she says with a smile, though it doesn't reach her eyes.

Eventually it's his turn in line, and he barely flinches as the needle pricks his finger. Now that Vex has got him thinking about victory, it's all that's on his mind. Nothing else matters right now. He flexes his hands in anticipation, bidding Vex a farewell as they part ways. Taking his spot among the other eighteen-year-olds, he waits for the Reaping to begin.

 **Lucia Ramirez, 18**

She watches as Valera and Helen make their way through the crowd to their designated sections, her sisters talking and laughing as if they share some kind of secret joke. They probably do.

Lucia has just settled into her spot when the district's escort, Gertrude Applebaum, clambers onstage, her orange hair choppy and her yellow gown billowing behind her. The bright colors make Lucia's vision swim again, and her head begins to hurt. _Great._

Gertrude goes through the typical introductory speech, the video plays, and the Reaping begins. Lucia takes a deep breath as the escort's hand dips into the glass bowl, plucking out a piece of paper before unrolling it and reading the name of the reaped female.

"Vex Arston!"

The crowd shifts as a girl makes her way out from the sixteen-year-old section. Lucia recognizes the girl from the Academy—a friend of Gunnar's, she thinks. The district watches as Vex walks up onto the stage, smiling bravely. She looks slightly worried—no doubt because she knows Gunnar is supposed to volunteer.

"Now, do we have any volunteers?" asks Gertrude, and Lucia's hand shoots up.

"I volunteer as tribute," she says loudly, confidently. She doesn't shout, no. That's not who she is.

Heads swivel to face her, and people applaud. There's always applause for the volunteers.

She holds her head up high as she approaches the stage, and Vex shoots her a friendly, almost-grateful smile. Lucia doesn't offer anything in return, only focusing on making it up those steps. Her vision has been holding out alright, and she needs it to stay this way. She can't embarrass herself in front of her district, in front of Panem.

Her journey to the stage is successful, and she gives Gertrude her name upon arrival.

"Lucia Ramirez."

"Well, congratulations, Lucia! What an honor!" More applause, and the Gertrude moves onto the males.

"Alexander Slater!"

A young boy from the fourteen-year-old section makes his way to the stage, swallowing and clenching his fists. He looks nervous, but tries to hide it.

Gertrude has just barely uttered the question for volunteers when Gunnar is calling out his offer, walking briskly to the stage and taking the steps two-by-two. He flashes the audience a vicious grin already in Career-mode, and the citizens go wild.

As Lucia and Gunnar perform the customary handshake, nodding to one another, Gertrude trills over the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes of District Two!"

* * *

 **And there you have it for District 2. Thank you to haydesx and Sukkar for Gunnar and Lucia!**

 **Honestly, I'm just trying to crank out these reapings and introductions as quickly as I can. I know from reading past SYOTs that this part is always super tedious, so I'm trying to get it all out there before I lose my motivation, you know?**

 **I feel like I focused a little bit more on Gunnar this chapter, at least in his point of view, but hopefully I introduced Lucia well enough through the duel in the beginning, as well as her own perspectives. She's a super interesting and unconventional character, and I think I'll be able to write that better as the story progresses.**

 **So yeah, I'll see you guys very soon, probably. Hope everyone's had a great day!**


	6. District 3: Halo and Cypress

**Halo Nath, 16**

 _"Halo. Halo! HALO!"_

 _A bright flash. A deafening_ boom. _Broken glass. Screaming, so much screaming. Everything is red. Red, red, red, red red_ —

"Halo!"

He gasps, sitting bolt upright, his legs thrashing around under the covers of his bed. A dream. It was only a dream. A horrible, horrible dream.

His gaze lands on his right arm, the uneven stump that ends right where the middle of his forearm would be, the ugly array of scars that wind around the dark skin. The remaining part of the limb hangs limply at his side, unfeeling.

Not a dream. Real.

"You were having another nightmare, weren't you?" For the first time since he's woken, Halo looks up. It's Hex, his eight-year-old brother, staring at him with wide, brown eyes. He clutches a worn yellow blanket, wringing the material nervously through his tiny hands.

"What are you doing in my room?" Halo says, ignoring the question. "You know I don't like people in here."

"I'm sorry, Halo, but you were starting to yell and I got scared because it makes me sad when you're like this and—"

"Just get out, Hex."

His brother sighs, giving him one last, long look, before turning and leaving the room, feet and blanket dragging.

Halo sits up in his bed, bracing himself on his left arm, and looks out through his window. The sun is low in the sky, signifying that it's early in the morning. It's Reaping Day, and most of District 3 is awake already. He can hear bustling in the streets below. With a sound that's somewhere between a sigh and a groan, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. Staring at the dress suit and slacks that hang from his bureau, he's reminded of what he's going to do today.

 _I volunteer as tribute,_ he thinks grimly.

Hex will think it's his fault. He always does, the poor kid. Then again, Halo thinks bitterly, he hasn't exactly given his little brother any reason _not_ to believe everything is his fault. His dad will be surprised, but ultimately accepting. He and Halo don't even have a relationship anymore, and he'll finally be able to focus his energy on his other son. The unbroken one.

It's been almost a year since the accident that cost Halo his right arm, and nothing has been the same since. He's fully aware of his own personality shift, from the outgoing, happy-go-lucky genius to a lonely, depressed cripple. He cut off his friends, his family. Dropped out of school. Started working as a janitor in the Justice Building.

It's lonely, but it's for the best.

He tries to stand, but his arm gives out. He slips from the edge of the mattress, lands painfully on the old, hardwood floor. Cursing loudly and biting back angry tears, he slams his left fist against the floor. Things used to be so _easy_.

He just needs to get away.

 **Cypress Nizar, 18**

 _Blue. Grey. Blue. Grey. Blue-grey. Grey-blue. Bluegrey. Greyblue. Blue. Grey._

She chews on her thumbnail, eyes flitting over the two dresses laid out before her—a blue one and a grey one. The Reaping starts in an hour, and she's been trying to decide what to wear for at least three.

 _God, and she hasn't even picked out her shoes yet._

Cypress groans, biting down on her nail so hard that she feels it snap between her teeth. Without thinking, she scratches the broken nail frantically on the leg of her denim pants, trying to file it down.

"Jumpy, what's your problem?"

Ironically contributing to the use of the nickname, she jumps. She turns to face the source of the voice, only to find that it's her sister, standing in the doorway of Cypress's bedroom with her arms crossed. Her dark hair is twisted into a low bun, and the bags under her eyes tell Cypress that she hasn't been sleeping well lately.

"I can't decide what to wear," says Cypress miserably.

Sosha sighs, pushing away from the door frame and crossing the carpeted floor. "You know, Cy, not every decision is life-or-death," she says. She gently takes Cypress's shoulders, turning her to face the bed, and begins to braid her hair.

"I know," Cypress mutters, relaxing slightly at the familiar pull of her sister's hands in her hair. "But you know me."

"I do."

The sisters fall into silence after that, and once again, Cypress's gaze wanders back to the two dresses.

She wishes she didn't have to act like this. Constantly planning, thinking, dreading. Her mind is always working in overdrive, no matter the situation. It's exhausting, both mentally and physically. She isn't like Sosha, calm and collected. She isn't like anyone she knows, actually.

"Personally, I like the blue," says her sister, tying off the braid and pushing it over Cypress's left shoulder. "It's more... I don't know, _lively._ Plus, blue's supposed to be a calming color, isn't it, Miss Psychology?"

Cypress smiles slightly at that. Ever since she was young she's dreamed of studying psychology, human behavior, all of that. Recently she was accepted into one of the top universities in Panem, all the way in the Capitol. It's something that's been keeping her going, but also bringing her immense stress. Still, she tries to remind herself of the opportunity and happiness it will bring, and things don't seem so bad anymore.

"You're not wrong," says Cypress, and Sosha smiles gently at her, pressing a comforting hand to her shoulder.

"Last reaping, Cy, and then you're free."

Her stomach flips. She doesn't know if the feeling that's just washed over her is relief or dread. Still, she offers her sister another smile. "I know. Thanks, Sosh."

Sosha nods once. "I'll see you in a bit."

Once she leaves, Cypress pushes the braid over her other shoulder.

 **Halo Nath, 16**

He and his family live in the center of the District, only a short walk from the square, so they're walking out the door only minutes before the Reaping is set to begin.

Hex walks slightly ahead of Halo and their father, still carrying his blanket. It drags slightly along the gravelly road, and Halo notices how the edges are becoming grey and thin. The blanket used to be his.

When they grow nearer to the check-in, their father places a hand on Hex's shoulder. "We'll see you after," he says simply, awkwardly shifting on his feet. "If... I don't know, if you want, I was, um. I was thinking I could make dinner tonight, since we'll all be home. If you were... if you were interested."

The offer is almost painful to listen to, for more reasons than one. Still, in a rare moment, Halo takes pity on his father. "That sounds good, Dad."

His father's eyes light up slightly, and he appears to be fighting a smile. "Oh. Okay, awesome. It's, uh... it's a plan, then."

Halo only nods wordlessly. For some reason, as he watches his father and brother walk away to join the other families, he is filled with remorse. What did he just do?

"Halo?"

He turns, seeing Lili approaching him. Her wild red hair looks slightly more tame than usual, and her freckled face is free of its usual motor-oil streaks. Halo grits his teeth, not wanting to deal with his ex-friend at the moment. Are they even ex-friends? He's tried to ice her out on multiple occasions, but she's relentless. She even visited him when he was in the hospital. He could never tell whether to be flattered or annoyed.

"Hi, Lili," he says, turning on the coldness in his demeanor. He doesn't look at her.

"How, um. How have you been?" she stammers, frowning as she falls into step with him. "I haven't seen you around in a while."

"Fine," he replies. Almost to the check-in, now.

"Well, I just wanted to talk to you again, just while I have you," Lili continues. Halo almost feels bad for her. The poor girl has always been better with machines than with people. "I know we already talked about this, but I just... I really think you should come back to school, Halo."

"Lili—"

"I _know_ you don't want to, Halo, but just _think_ about it! You... you were— _are_ —a genius! Top of our class! You could still _be_ something, Halo, if you could only just _come back_ —"

"Lili, enough!" he snaps.

She stares at him, wide-eyed. Then, her gaze hardens. He's never seen Lili get angry before, and he thinks this is the closest she's ever been to it. "We _miss_ you, Halo," she spits. "Me and Spark and Datum and Electra. It's not the _same_ without you, and you don't even care! You've just thrown everything away, fallen completely into your own little world of self-pity."

"It's better for everyone this way," says Halo.

"Screw you," says Lili.

She doesn't try to talk to him for the remainder of the time they spend in line.

 **Cypress Nizar, 18**

Staring down at the fabric bunched between her shaking fists, Cypress wonders if blue was really the right choice.

 _Too late, now._

Her lip has started to bleed from chewing on it so hard, and her tongue flicks out to catch it. She wrinkles her nose at the metallic taste.

"You okay?" asks Auralee from beside her.

"Yeah," dismisses Cypress. "Just... nervous."

Her best friend snickers, but it's humorless. "Aren't we all," she muses. "But hey, this is our last one, and then we're out of the woods."

Cypress doesn't reply, once again consumed by that feeling she can't quite define. It's kind of sick, she thinks, that you literally hope for _another_ child, a classmate or a sibling or a friend, to be reaped so that you won't have to worry about it. The Hunger Games have made everybody selfish, have corrupted everybody into ultimately caring for only themselves. Sick, sick, sick. Sick and twisted.

Distict 3's escort, Othello O'Hare, has just climbed the steps to the stage. "Ah-ha, welcome, citizens of District Three, to this year's reapings!"

Polite applause. Nothing enthusiastic. Dread and selfishness still linger in the air.

Othello reads his speech, shows the video. Behind him, Cypress notices District 3's surviving victors, Bit and Elec Strata, having a hushed conversation. Bit's face is slightly contorted, her posture crooked. It's barely noticeable, but Cypress sees it. She always sees. Bit is in pain, is trying to hide it. Elec appears to be internally panicking, if the slight twitch of his brow is anything to go by.

She's so wrapped up in the victors that she doesn't even realize that Othello has selected a slip of paper from the girls' bowl.

Has unrolled the slip.

Has read the name.

It is Cypress Nizar.

Beside her, Auralee gasps. Heads turn and the silence is deafening, and Cypress can hardly contain the scream that bubbles in her throat. This can't be right. This... this can't be happening. No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_ —

"Cypress?" calls Othello. "Do we have a Cypress?"

 _"Cypress!"_ hisses Auralee, suddenly gripping Cypress's wrists. Cypress glances downward, sees the bright read crescents, the peeled skin underneath her fingernails. _Oh, god._

Auralee has tears in her eyes, and seeing her usually-positive best friend in such a state snaps her out of her reverie. How much time has passed since her name was called? Minutes? Hours? She doesn't know.

Taking a shaky breath, she steps out into the aisle. She clenches her fists, lets her fingernails dig into her palm, chews on the inside of her cheek until, once again, she is tasting blood. She walks.

It takes eons to reach the stage. She feels like she's going to pass out as she climbs the stairs. She keeps her eyes on her dress— _blueblueblue_ —and is unable to look into the audience. If she sees her family, she'll break down.

The rest of the reaping progresses as if she is underwater. Everything is muffled, jumbled together and hazy. There's a volunteer from the boy's section, a burly sixteen-year-old who's missing part of his arm.

Maybe not everyone is selfish, after all.

* * *

 **Somehow, this is the longest chapter yet. Funny, because I struggled quite a bit with it. Thanks to LordShiro and Sukkar for Cypress and Halo!**

 **Ugh, so this came way later than I intended. I had last minute plans yesterday that lasted _literally_ all day, so I had no time to write anything. I got home from work tonight and just powered through all of this. Hopefully it's okay! Cypress and Halo are both super interesting to me, and I genuinely enjoyed writing them, even though they proved to be a bit difficult. Threw in some parallels, though. Did you catch them?**

 **Next up is District 4! Super excited for this one. I'll see you guys next update, and if it doesn't happen tomorrow, then I'm wishing you all a happy new year in advance!**


	7. Just a little note, everything's fine!

**Hi, everyone! I promise, everything's fine and awesome and great and life' sa little stressful but I am fine and so is the story. Basically, I was an idiot and got myself grounded for a few days, meaning no electronics other than at school and work. Not much time for writing, there. But that's okay, because my teachers are going crazy with assignments so at least I've been able to keep up with those.**

 **What I'm saying is don't worry! I know it's been like a year since I updated, but I'll have the next chapter finished and posted as soon as possible! Sorry for the absence!**

 **Have a great night :)**


	8. District 4: Maris and Taruca

**Maris Anker, 17**

"What is this?"

The letter hits the desk with a heavy _slap,_ the air making Maris's papers flutter. It's a simple white envelope, addressed to _The Parents of Maris Anker._ It's got the Academy seal on the top right corner, and Maris sighs. She thinks she knows what this is about.

"It looks like you already know," she says, looking up at her father from her spot at the desk.

Her father's eyes flash, and he grabs the letter. He re-opens the already torn envelope and produces a single, neatly-folded letter. _"To whomever it may concern,"_ he begins to read, his eyes flicking up to look at Maris warningly. _"We believe it is our duty to report to you any changes in your daughter, Maris Anker's, performance at our prestigious academy. Lately, Maris has seemed to lack the enthusiasm we so often see and instill in our students. While she has no shortage of skill, it seems that she is simply not mentally prepared for whatever an event such as the Hunger_ _Games will bring. Without improvement in morale, it is unlikely that Maris will be seriously considered as a candidate for the 128th Hunger Games."_

When he finishes reading, he peers down at her again, eyes angry. The paper is beginning to crumple in his hand, but Maris only sighs. "Okay?" she says.

 _"Okay?"_ her father repeats. "Maris, what is going on?"

"Nothing, Dad," she mumbles. _Nothing I can talk to_ you _about, anyway._

"Well, this doesn't _seem_ like nothing!" her father says. "We pay an _extensive_ amount of money to send you to that academy, Maris! More than you could even comprehend! And to hear that you're acting like you don't even care?"

"Of course I care," she says, rather unconvincingly. "It even said in the letter that I've got good skill."

"But not the drive, Maris!" Her father's face is growing red as he tries to contain his annoyance, and Maris can't help but feel a bit smug. "They said that if you don't get your motivation back up, you won't be going into the Games next year! Do you know what that means?"

"Yeah, it means I won't go into the Games."

"And it _also_ means that we'll stay right where we are! Maris, you _know_ that the family is counting on you. Your mother and I, we can't keep up with the business forever. Eventually we're going to need a more stable lifestyle, a higher societal podium. Otherwise, we'll be run straight into the ground. You know how important this is."

Maris bites back the bitter comment on her tongue. Of course, because that's all they want. Class. Money. Recognition. Who cares about Maris, who's supposed to be marching off to a death match in a year? No, it's all about her victory and how much _pride_ and _wealth_ it'll bring to the family. They'll get to trade in the fishing business for a cushy home in the Victor's Village.

All she ever wanted was her parents' approval. She went to the Academy like they wanted, and she trained hard. They stole her life, her childhood, sold them to the Hunger Games, all because they care so much about their own selfish desires. Even her sisters want her in the Games. They can't see how much she's drowning, either.

But, fine. Maris can be driven. She can be motivated. She can't _wait_ until next year, to see how they feel when she wins and doesn't share a single _penny_ of her earnings.

 **Taruca Somsoi, 15**

"Up you go, little guy," he says, gently tucking his hand under the turtle's shell and flipping him back over. "Head back to your family, now. I'm sure they're waiting for you."

Little brown eyes look at him for a moment, before the little creature turns and flops its way back toward the water. Taruca smiles after it, pleased with his good deed for the day. Sure, he's going to be a little late for work now, but it's okay. He just helped make a day better.

He brushes the sand from his trousers, then makes his way across the rest of the beach, toward the path that will take him away from his waterfront home and into the more populated areas of the district. The alligator farm where he works is about two miles away from his house, but he doesn't mind the walk. He also doesn't mind that he's been booked for an extra shift today, despite the Reaping. He'll make it home in time.

"Hello, Taruca!"

"Hi, Mrs. Aquifer!" he says cheerily, waving to the elderly woman as they pass each other. He loves his district. The people, the atmosphere, everything is just so... homey. He hopes he can live here forever.

Eventually he comes up to the farm, pulling his long-ish hair back as he enters. Immediately he's greeted by his coworkers, and he returns the gestures in full. He likes working here. District 4 is known for a bit more than just their fishing—they also provide some fashion. Alligator skin is a new, raving trend in the Capitol, so the industry has grown immensely. He's not a fan of the _killing_ part, but he likes the alligators themselves. In a way, he considers them his friends.

Maybe it's because he sees himself in them—they're despised and even feared for something they have no control over. His strife hasn't been quite as grueling, but he understands what it's like to be criticized for something that others deem a weakness. It certainly seems to be what his teachers thought, anyway, when the words on the textbook pages would begin to swim across the pages, twisting and turning and dancing, making it impossible for him to comprehend the text.

No matter, though. He dropped out of school, got a job at the farm, and has never been happier. It's a bit unconventional, but he doesn't mind.

There's always something to be happy about.

 **Maris Anker, 17**

She fiddles with the sash of her sea-green dress as she walks, not paying much attention to her surroundings. Her family walks with her, toward the square, ready for the reaping. Maris doesn't care much for it this year; the volunteer is some older girl named Pearl, or something. Apparently she's good with a sword.

"Hey, lighten up," says Talia from her left. "You seem awfully down about something."

Maris looks up at her sister, at her beautiful features—tall stature, dark hair, blue eyes. She's the beauty of the family, that's for sure. A real siren.

"I'm fine," says Maris. "Just tired."

"I heard about the letter."

Maris sighs, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Of course you did. Who told you, Mina? She's the one who found it in the first place and squealed to Dad." Maris loves her little sister, she does. It's just that Mina, well... she doesn't hold many things _sacred._

"Look, Maris, you want this! You always have," says Talia, and Maris restrains herself from rolling her eyes. Here comes the lecture. "I mean, it's what you've grown up living for," continues Talia. "Mom and Dad, they're counting on you. So is Nerissa, and Mina, too. You have to stay focused, just for another year. You're so close."

"Yeah, you're right," says Maris, plastering a smile in hopes that it'll cause Talia to drop the subject. Thankfully, it works.

They're getting closer to the square now, a crowd or people already forming. Maris's eyes scan the area, finally locking on a head of sandy blonde hair. She smiles, breaking away from her family without a word. "Akoya Seaver?" she calls, pretending to be surprised.

When her best friend turns to see her, her face lights up. "Hey, stranger!" she says, surging forward to wrap Maris in a tight hug. When she pulls away, the two girls continue to grip each other's forearms. "Haven't seen you in a few days."

"Not like the Academy's been on break for the Games or anything."

"Hey, watch the attitude," says Akoya, faux annoyance on her face. She breaks it immediately, though, and the two burst out laughing. "Come on," Akoya continues, linking her arm through Maris's as they head to the check-in.

 **Taruca Somsoi, 15**

The escort is terrifying this year.

It's all Tarcua can think about as he stares up at the stage, fixated on her grotesque figure, the stark white skin, the large black eyes, the black wig, the black clothing. She looks like a demon, for crying out loud. He shudders.

"-and happy Hunger Games!" she says, finishing her spiel. The citizens applaud, and she squeals excitedly. "Oh, I just _adore_ you guys!"

"Is it me, or is she super creepy this year?" mutters Eddy from beside Taruca.

"Nope, not just you," replies Taruca as the escort—what's her name, anyway?—continues to speak, before prancing over to the girls' reaping bowl. "I'd hate to be reaped and have to deal with that for nearly a week."

Eddy snorts. "No kidding," he says, before they fall into silence once again.

The escort reaches a pointed black fingers into the bowl, plucking out a piece of paper and unrolling it with gusto. "And our lucky lady for this year's Games is... Maris Anker!"

The crowd shifts, making way for a girl from the 17-year-old section. She's frowning, looking around in confusion. She glances over her shoulder, toward the age group above her, seeming to focus on a tall, pretty girl with frizzy brown hair, who looks shell-shocked. Is she supposed to volunteer? Beside Maris, a pretty girl with blonde hair has a hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

When nothing happens, Maris swallows visibly. She clenches her fists at her side and steps out into the aisle, walking stiffly toward the stage. Taruca has to give her credit, she does well with putting on a brave face, anyway. He thinks he knows her, actually, has seen her in passing. She trains at the Academy, so she'll be fine in the Games, hopefully. Better than some 12-year-old.

"Let's have a warm round of applause for Maris!" says the escort, and everybody cheers politely, albeit slightly confused. "And now, let's move onto the boys!"

She works quicker this time, grabbing a slip and unrolling it hastily. She clears her throat, stepping back up to the microphone, her black eyes unseeing. "Taruca Somsoi!"

Taruca blinks.

Well, shit.

* * *

 **I. Love. Taruca.**

 **Ugh, he's literally just the sweetest. I wanna hug him. Thank you to andromeda and Sukkar for Maris and Taruca, and I apologize for the long wait!**

 **So, what do you guys think of our tributes? District 4 has always been one of my favorites, so this was definitely a blast to write. I love Maris's attitude, very non-Career. It's interesting to see a trainee with no interest in, well, training.**

 **As usual, they'll be characterized more as the story progresses. See you guys next time for District 5!**


	9. District 5: Toine and Sade

_**Toine Dalius, 12**_

He's never seen her this bad before.

Toine sighs from his spot outside his mother's door, peering through the crack to watch as his father sits at her bedside, her hand in his, murmuring words of comfort. They don't seem to be doing much of anything, as Toine's mother is still shaking like a leaf and babbling broken, incoherent sentences. He catches maybe every few words; _cold, why, gone, Joseph._

It's been two years since his twin brother died, two years since his family has been anything close to normal and healthy. His father is okay, and he has great friends, but Toine's mother still hasn't recovered. It's thrown off the entire dynamic of his home. He misses Joseph, and he misses his mother.

He backs away silently from the door wen he sees his father rise, giving his wife another comforting pat on the hand before turning to exit the room. Toine creeps away into the kitchen and slips into a chair at the table, staring down at the polished wood as if he wasn't just eavesdropping. But his father is no idiot.

"She'll be okay, kid," says his father, entering the kitchen and ruffling Toine's ashen hair.

"You always say that," mutters Toine, and his father sighs.

"It's especially hard for her today," his father reminds him as he slips into the chair across from Toine. "It's your first Reaping. She doesn't want to lose you, too."

"I'm not gonna get picked," Toine argues. "It's my first year, and District Five is huge. There are tons of other boys who could be picked over me."

His father sighs and smiles sadly. "Never lose that optimism, kid," he says. "You never know when you'll need it most."

Toine smiles at that, rolling his eyes half-heartedly. "Yeah, yeah," he says playfully. "Can I go now? I told Hailie and Marcus that I'd go with them to Jycob's house."

His father nods and Toine grins, sending him a _thank you_ and slipping out of his seat. He tugs on his shoes and is out the door in seconds.

"Be back in time for the Reaping!" his father calls, and Toine shoots a thumbs-up over his shoulder without turning back as he tears down the road.

He sees his friends waiting for him at the end of the street, and his grin widens as he picks up speed. It takes him only thirty seconds to cross the remaining distance, leaping at Marcus and nearly tackling him to the ground. The boys laugh, playfully wrestling each other until Hailie clears her throat. Toine and Marcus turn to her with sheepish grins, and even Hailie can't fight her smile as she looks at the two of them. "You guys are such boys!"

"Wow, it's almost like we _literally_ are!" Toine quips, and the three friends giggle. They begin their walk to Jycob's house, only a block or two away, making jokes the whole way. In the distance, they can hear the morning train rumbling through the district.

Toine loves spending time with his friends. They take his mind off of everything—his brother's death, his mother's grief—and make him feel like everything truly would be okay.

He wouldn't trade that for anything.

 **Sade Wanyan, 16**

She really, really hates that train.

She'd think she would have grown accustomed to it by now, the deathly rumbling and the obnoxious horn that sound four times a day, practically in her backyard. No, _literally_ in her backyard. The tracks are _right there._ Morning, afternoon, evening, midnight. It's rare that she can sleep through it for more than a week.

Sighing, she sits up in bed. No point in trying to get back to sleep now. She has to get up and moving anyway; the Reaping is this afternoon.

Just the thought of it puts a terrible taste in her mouth. Sometimes, she finds herself wondering if Thales's friends are onto something. Her older brother's crowd... they aren't the greatest bunch of people, but they seem to be anti-Capitol, something they'll verbalize often and discreetly. But Sade would never have the courage to speak badly of the Capitol out loud. She isn't an idiot; she knows their power.

Thinking of her brother brings on another sigh as she pads out to the kitchen, where her mother is already at the table. She's surprised to see another figure there as well.

"Galvin?" she says, and her other older brother turns to face her with a gentle smile.

"Hey, Sade."

She smiles, surging forward as he stands from the table and flinging her arms around him in a tight hug. It's been a while since she's seen Galvin, as his newest position at the power plants has required longer hours. She can't even remember the last time she stayed at his apartment, something that used to be an all-too-frequent occurrence.

"Where have you been?" Sade demands teasingly. "Surely an _inspector_ has more time for his little sister than you seem to lately."

Galvin laughs and tugs gently at her hair. "Relax, Sade. The boss gave me the whole day off for the Reaping, so I figured I'd head back here and spend the day with you guys. Stay for dinner and whatnot."

Sade beams as she steps back. Galvin is nineteen, only three years older than she is, but he's wise beyond his years. If Sade didn't know her family, she would place Galvin as the 23-year-old and Thales as the 19-year-old.

"You need to get ready for later, Sade," their mother cuts in, her sharp voice weighed down by exhaustion. "I've got a few dresses that you can choose from, unless you have your own."

Sade sighs, her stomach twisting and that awful taste filling her mouth once again. "Okay," she says simply. She shoots Galvin a grin and heads back in the direction of her bedroom, grabbing a questionably-fresh apple on her way.

 **Toine Dalius, 12**

Fleetingly, Toine tries to think back to the last time he's seen the sun. Maybe it's a distraction from the fact that he and his father are almost to the square, or that his mother is too unwell to even come with them to the Reaping, but he doesn't dwell too much.

The sun truly is a rare occurrence in District 5. Between all of the various power plants, factories, and laboratories, the entire district is constantly shrouded in a dense layer of smog and fumes. Toine can't imagine that it's a safe place to live, but really, what's the alternative?

The square has finally come into view, as well as the drably-clothed citizens of the district. Toine keeps an eye out for any of his friends, as they made plans earlier to all meet up.

"You feeling okay, kid?" asks his father, and Toine looks up at him with a smile.

"Totally," he says. "I just can't wait for this to be over so we can go back home and have dinner."

His father chuckles at that, and they continue their trek. Eventually they part ways, his father moving to stand with the other parents and Toine following the other children toward the check-in. It's even more chaotic than he imagined it would be, with bodies everywhere and nervous chatter filling the air. He spots a few classmates, but there are so many people bustling about that he can't focus too much on their faces.

The finger prick hurts a bit, but it isn't overwhelmingly painful. He's just about given up on searching for his friends when he hears somebody call his name, and he grins in relief when he sees them. He runs toward them, noticing the weary expressions on their faces.

"Oh, cheer up, guys!" he says. "It's our first Reaping. Lots of people take out tesserae here, so we're totally fine."

"That's true," says Hailie, shifting anxiously. "Still, the odds are unpredictable. What if it's one of us?"

"Well, then let's cross our fingers and hope that it's Marcus!" Toine teases, and Marcus yelps indignantly while Hailie and Jycob dissolve into laughter. He smiles at that, glad to have raised their spirits. Their laughter helps him ignore the sudden, sinking feeling in his gut.

 **Sade Wanyan, 16**

She settles into the 16-year-old section among her female classmates. Not that they know her well—she's had to miss so much school over the years due to picking up hours at the plants that she'd be surprised if any of them even recognize her name. _Perks of having a dead dad,_ she thinks bitterly to herself.

She's only standing there for ten or so minutes before the district's escort trots onto the stage, a pudgy man with pale yellow skin, turquoise hair, and a ridiculously-curly mustache. He introduces himself as Antonio von Trapp, and then Sade remembers. He used to be District 6's escort, but due to supposed "complications" had to switch to 5 instead.

He titters on and on about the Games and the Capitol and all that, before finally deciding to choose the names. "Now, I believe we should start with the lovely ladies, per tradition!" he chirps, and Sade suddenly feels nauseous. She's had to take a lot of tesserae this year. But the bowl is practically overflowinf; there are so many other names that _aren't_ hers. Right?

Dramatically, Antonio plucks up a slip and unrolls it, clearing his throat loudly into the microphone and speaking the unlucky name.

"Congratulations to Sade Wanyan!"

Her heart stops. Her breath catches in her throat. She hears a few sighs of relief around her, the other girls undoubtedly thankful that the name isn't there. Immediately she can feel tears burning her eyes, but she clenches her fists and bites down hard on her lip as she steps out into the aisle. Everything seems to be happening in slow motion as she walks down the cobblestone path. She can't believe this is happening.

She climbs the stairs, afraid all the while that she'll completely faint. She glances to her right and makes eye contact with Joule Solaris, the district's only victor. She's heard that he's kind. He shoots her a sympathetic smile, but she can't bring herself to offer anything in return as Antonio hops over to the boys' bowl.

He calls a little boy from the 12-year-old section, and Sade's heart breaks just a little bit more. The kid's face is completely white, his eyes wide in shock and fear. Still, as awful as it is, she feels slightly reassured. He's young, probably naïve. She knows that she'll stand a chance at least against him.

At the other side of the square, she sees her family. Her mother watches on, stoic. Thales looks unbelievably angry, and Galvin has a hand covering his mouth. She's thankful when Antonio directs her and her district partner into the justice building, because if she looks at her damily any longer, she knows that she'll break.

* * *

 **I had, like, a lot of trouble writing Sade. She's a super awesome and detailed character, which I love, but something about her is just tricky. I definitely don't mind though; I love the challenge! Also, I totally relate to her with the whole "next to the tracks" thing. I've got tracks right at the end of my street, and you can always hear the train and see it through the trees. Toine's adorable, simple as that. Thanks to Tiger Outsider and anyhoot for Toine and Sade!**

 **Okay, yes this took forever. But the reason is because I took time to write the rest of the districts. I wanted to make sure I had enough material to get back into a consistent writing/updating schedule, so I pushed through and finished the rest of the reapings, and they're now ready for publication. I'll probably stick to a once-a-week schedule now, in order to give myself time to work on the rest.**

 **I also think I've finally figured out the rankings! Of course it's subject to change as the story goes on, but I think the tentative plan I have is decent. Unfortunately, I only received two bloodbath submissions, meaning that I'm going to have to pick off a handful of characters who were created to rank higher. It's not gonna be fun, but there's no way around it. I'm apologizing in advance.**

 **District 6 next week, have a great day everyone!**


End file.
